


I Might Splinter But I Don't Break

by Skeppsbrott



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Character Study, Gen, POV Second Person
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-17
Updated: 2018-07-17
Packaged: 2019-06-12 03:28:58
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 489
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15330735
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Skeppsbrott/pseuds/Skeppsbrott
Summary: As we write a character, we branch out from canon. Sometimes to the point where very little remains. Yet, we still recognize those characters for who they are.Short fics about Dirk Strider through different places, times, universes, and splinters.





	1. Chapter 1

There’s no sense as closely associated with memory and emotion as scent, you’ve read somewhere. It seems reasonable. 

Leather, saddle oil, hay, dung, oats and veggies, wood, sweat, horse. Horse. It strikes that deep chord of familiarity within you, reminding you that this has been your safe haven since you were seven. Your forehead leans against the mare’s. Her eyes meets yours; large and intelligent, kind, curious, gentle, deep brown. Her pulse runs underneath your hand, her neck warm against your skin. Your heartbeat slows down, your breathing evens out, and you feel the fall that’s been going on all afternoon finally cushioned by the familiarity and warmth of the stable. Your arms wrap around her neck, and you inhale her scent. Everything else matters a little less. 

Patiently, she lets you cling to her for however long it takes, waits for you to be ready to pick up the pieces.

Once you let go, she walks over to her food crate, muscles moving under your hand. At the other end of the stable, someone neighs, but your girl pays it no mind. You feel another lump form in your throat, and sit down in the hay. She glances at you before resuming her meal, and you wonder how to tell her you can’t imagine an existence without her. Without  _ this _ , in general. You don’t need Jake, or Jane, or even Roxy or your big Bro when you’ve the stable.

It takes two more hours before you turn your phone back on.


	2. Chapter 2

When the blade cuts through the fabric of your shirt, that’s your first warning sign. It’s far too close. Come on, Dirk, you tell yourself. Get your head in the game.

You’re biting off more than you can chew, though. For just a moment, you lose your focus, only to feel the cold heat of steel slicing your arm open. Sawtooths programming stops him when he feel the soft resistance of flesh, and you curse as your blood stains the concrete. “Fuck,” you breathe, “fuck, fuck, fuck,  _ fuck, _ ” as you scramble to remember that it looks like more blood than what it actually is. Two robots and a first-aid kit later, and you lay down on the roof, staring up into the sky. You feel the pressure of the bandaging, the crusting of the already drying blood on your hand, the slight dizziness that always comes after a bad miss, and the dull, throbbing pain that takes over once your initial reaction of instinctual panic dies down. Your breathing is even, and you’ve never felt gravity’s pull on you so strongly before.

Sawtooth beeps as he finish the duel program analysis, and one more adjustment of difficulty is assigned to one more scar-to-be. 

You close your eyes, retreat inside of your own body, where the blood is pumping and your lungs heaving and your muscles are sore. Tomorrow, you tell yourself, you’ll be yet a bit stronger.


End file.
